


Amelia.

by LionThot



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Body Horror, F/F, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mind Manipulation, Rape, Revenge Sex, Sibling Incest, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionThot/pseuds/LionThot
Summary: Ward spoilersA reinterpretation of Amy and Victoria's confrontation on Shin--She had tapped into the worst parts of my personality, the desire for justice by pain, my hatred and fear of her, and had tied them together with some bullshit Freudian tendencies in an attempt to get herself off."Amy," I whispered, her name dripping like venom off of my tongue. "I am going to break you like you broke me."
Relationships: Amy Dallon | Panacea | Red Queen/Victoria Dallon | Glory Girl | Antares
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Amelia.

From the moment I woke up, even in the clutches of whatever drug I had been knocked out with, I knew that she had used her power. 

My head should have been aching, hospitalized and drugged against my will after an assassination attempt-cum-riot. My body should have been sore and stiff. Fuck, even my fingernail had been ripped off, but I didn't feel the slightest bit of pain from it or any other of the injuries that I had accumulated in the previous weeks. Even before I noticed the changes she had made, even before opening my eyes, I knew that she had used her power because waking up didn't hurt.

It had been so many years since waking up didn't hurt.

She sat, cross-legged in a chair across from my cot, dressed in luxurious textiles of the brightest white to contrast against the dripping scarlet and twisted gold of her tattoos. She wore a satisfied smirk beneath her crown of tumbling red curls, a far cry from the shy, mousy girl that I had once called my sister. She looked like she thought that she was a goddess.

"Hey Vicky," she said softly, reaching out to stroke my hair. I flinched, reaching for the Wretch and not finding her. Whatever I had been drugged with, it had distanced me from my powers, leaving me without my forcefield— without protection. The realization that there was nowhere in this small, barren room that she couldn't reach stirred a primal panic; I simply froze under the weight of it as she rubbed a single strand of my hair before her thumb and forefinger. 

"I'm sorry that this was the only way we could talk," she continued, pulling her hand away. "I just wanted a moment to talk to you, for you to listen to me when I apologized. I wanted to prove to you that I have control over my power now. You don't have anything to worry about, Vicky. I want to make things alright between us." 

Panic and fear were things I could normally handle, until it came to her. I had stared down countless villains and monsters and never flinched. Life or death situations was the norm for a cape, if you couldn't handle it, then you were done for. Despite that, the feelings that seeing her or hearing her name induced could bring me to shambles. I had fought so hard for so long against the weakness, making sure that I never showed her any kind of vulnerability. After waking up like this, however, I was tired. I had been fighting it for so long, and things never seemed to change. In spite of my instincts, I decided that it was time to lean into i, to let it feed into my anger.

"I'm _sorry?_ " I sputtered, incredulous. "You drugged me, used your power on me without me knowing or trusting you, and now want to tell me that the apology I've heard a million times before means anything? What, did you think I would be grateful that you dragged me away from my friends, cornered me into this room, and fucked with my body? What did you even do to me?"

"Vicky, it's okay, I just healed your wounds and helped smooth some of the rougher memories of the past few mo—"

I could have killed her. In fact, I should have; the world would have been much better off. 

Crimson trickled down, staining the front of her dress, hands to her face where I had just punched her. The image of her covered in her own blood for a change satisfied a deep-seated sadistic urge, to punish the person who had broken my family into so many pieces, who had made my life a living hell for so long. I felt an unfamiliar twinge in my groin, and my stomach dropped as I realized the extent of what she had done.

Desperately reaching for my powers, I lashed out with my emotional aura, pushing fear and awe as far and as forcefully as I could. The Wretch returned, gauging fingernail marks in the walls and floor. I used a set of its hands to pin her against the wall, not caring whether or not the Wretch would hurt her. She was the one who had made it, after all. She was the one who had broken my body, leaving me trapped and helpless for two hellish years inside something that people couldn't bear to look at, made not just of me but of rats and roaches and stray animals. If the Wretch had torn her limb from limb, I would have reveled in the pain that she deserved. No tattoos or captive apology could ever come close to what she needed to be forgiven. 

"You didn't just tell me that you've been in my mind again," I snarled, my voice ripped from my throat. The girl on the wall grew pale as she realized how helpless she truly was, and I smiled as the tension down below grew tighter. 

These feelings of hatred toward her weren't unfamiliar, but they had taken a strange shape, and it wasn't until I realized how beautiful she looked in that moment that it occurred to me. I had never thought of my sister as beautiful, much less _her._

"I was just trying to help, to make it up to you," she whimpered, not even apologizing for yet another transgression as ragged tears appeared at her shoulders. _How_ could this have helped make it up? Then, in an instant, it all became clear.

If I were with my team, Master-Stranger protocols would be in full effect; my mind was compromised and I needed to defer judgement to someone who was guaranteed to be safe. In here, however, there was no one. I had to trust my own warped judgement, and right now that judgement was telling me that I was locked alone in a room with a person who had violated by mind and body on an unfathomable scale, and the tightness in my groin was beginning to become unbearable.

I touched an exposed part of her thigh and slowly traced my fingertips up to her hips. Between Dean's death and my time in the hospital, it had been so long since I had had any form of release— even private fantasy often turned to panic. The thoughts about how soft her thighs were as she quivered in fear were likely her doing, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy having them as I hooked a finger around the waistband of my sister's panties.

"You wanted this, right?" I asked, the fury fading away to something more sinister. I dragged the underwear down to her knees before letting it drop to the floor. She nodded, her face flushing at my touch. 

"You thought that you could just fix some trauma, we could just fuck it out and then go our own way, maybe I would even get a _taste_ for you, right?" 

Right then, I would have _loved_ to have gotten a taste of her, confirming that my thoughts were truly no longer my own. Confirming that I was in the right.

"Amy," I whispered, her name dripping like venom off of my tongue. "I am going to break you like you broke me."

\--

Growing up, the most intimate moments shared between my family were after battle. The times that my mother most felt like Mom was when she stitched up a wound or helped wash and rinse a cut-up fist. Making ice bags for bruises and sprains, administering advice with anti-inflammatories, having to rely on one another; it was our way of shoring up the little bits of ourselves that was lost in the struggle. Caring for one another like that brought our family together.

When Amy got her powers, things changed. Now, having a real healer on the team meant that we could afford to take more risks, and the sheer strength of her healing ability was unparalleled. Even before her powers, I had trusted Amy more than I trusted myself, but after? Her touch was reassurance, support, love concentrated. If I had known the way she felt about me back then, if Dean hadn't come into my life... 

I ripped Amy's dress off of her, tearing apart the exotic weave as though it were paper. She cowered beneath me, naked and bloodied, and I could have gotten drunk off of the sensation. Without a second thought, I dropped my jeans. 

"Vicky, please," she mewled, staring at the erection that she created as it pulsed against my panties. "Don't do this." 

She had tapped into the worst parts of my personality, the desire for justice by pain, my hatred and fear of her, and had tied them together with some bullshit Freudian tendencies in an attempt to get herself off. Her resistance was just an act.

Amy tried to crawl away, but I flipped her on her back and pinned her wrists to the ground with one hand. I had always been the more athletic of the two, and the gulf between us had only widened in recent years. With my free hand, I pulled down my panties and placed myself against her lips. A shiver went through me at the unexpected sensitivity of my tip against her, and I smiled.

"Fuck you, Amelia."

With that, I plunged myself inside with a gasp. Was it that I was playing into the manipulation, the catharsis of finally putting Amy in her place, or did it just feel that good to fuck my sister? She struggled under me and opened her mouth to scream, but I silenced her with a kiss. 

My tongue filled her mouth, and while she could have bit down, I knew that I was just as much at her mercy here. If she so chose, she could have killed me or worse so long as I remained in contact with her. The writhing and fighting underneath me was still cute.

With my free hand, I groped the side of her stomach, clawing deep into her as I began steadily thrusting, hips slamming against her bucking hips as her feet scrabbled for any purchase across the smooth tiled floor. 

Her protests got louder as I came closer to the finish, I bit down hard on her lower tip to silence her. The intoxicating taste of blood filled my mouth, and overwhelming waves of pleasure racked through my body. I pushed myself deeper, demanding more from her as what could only have been cum pumped inside of my sister. 

Slowly, her struggling stopped and she lay limp underneath me. It was only then that I realized how much blood she had lost from the wounds on her shoulders and side. If she didn't receive medical attention, it was likely that she wouldn't survive— after all, she couldn't use her power on herself.

I stood up, a string of something clear and sticky the last link between us as I withdrew. Looking at the broken, bleeding form of the girl who had ruined my life, for the first time that I could really remember, I felt free. In the end, she really had managed to make things right between us.

I pulled my jeans back on, pocketing my panties before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind me.

Someone else could stay behind to lick her wounds. I had a life to live.


End file.
